


Middle Ground

by SailorChibi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 24/7 Age Play, Adult baby, Age Play, Angst, Arguments, Baking, Bathing, But he's trying, Crying, Daddy!Sam, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean Needs Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Little!Dean, Mark of Cain, Nap Time, Nightmares, Oblivious Sam, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Post Season 9, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Teddy Bears, Winchester Brothers - Freeform, Yelling, bed wetting, but ignores a lot, compromises, coping methods, emotional breakdown, non sexual age play, not really a hunt fic, pull ups, set somewhere in season 9/10, sippy cups, use your words boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a way to control the Mark of Cain by keeping Dean away from any violence, Sam and Dean are trying out an age play relationship where Dean is the little. And, okay, not that Sam would admit it where Dean could hear, but it's also a way to give Dean back the childhood he never had: a way for Sam to maybe, finally repay him for everything Dean sacrificed.</p><p>Unfortunately, things are never that easy for the stubborn Winchester brothers. The first time Sam tries going out on a hunt all by himself nearly ruins everything they've worked for, and it will take an epic screaming match, a lot of tears, some deep thinking and a little angelic intervention before they can come to an acceptable compromise. This is that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for an anon who requested Sam and Dean age play in the bunker, with Cas as support and Crowley as a baby-sitter. I took the concept and ran with it. This takes place in a verse where Cas has his grace back and Metatron is in prison, because I like to hand wave my way to a good place.

Flour, salt, sugar, butter, ice water... Sam's eyes flew down the screen of his tablet again, making sure that he had added everything. The recipe was deceptively simple and had turned out to be way more complicated than he was expecting. He looked down at the lump in his bowl: a pitiful lump of clay compared to the perfect dough that the picture showed. He just wasn't sure what he had done wrong. He'd followed every step, even going so far as to keep the butter cold until it was added, and had done his best to not overwork the dough - whatever that meant. And this was his result. Something that he wouldn't even force a demon to eat.

"Damn it," Sam muttered, swiping a hand across his forehead and scowling when he realized he'd left a streak of flour behind. Baking and cooking weren't exactly his best areas. Back when he lived with Jess, it hadn't taken her long to figure out that it was best for everyone if Sam's activity in the kitchen was highly restricted. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't known you couldn't put a metal bowl in the microwave! Most of his life had been spent eating out of roadside diners, and on the rare occasion that they moved into an apartment for a little while, Dean had always been the one to cook.

At that thought, Sam sighed and bent down until he could none too gently let his forehead thump against the edge of the counter. Now that things were finally changing, he was realizing just how much Dean had done for him when he was a kid. Things that Sam had never even thought about before slammed into him on a regular basis. Things like Dean knowing exactly how to change a diaper, even though he would've been no older than seven by the time Sam was out of them. Or like how Dean knew more recipes for modifying Kraft Dinner than anyone else on the planet. Or how Dean didn't actually like peanut butter and banana sandwiches, even though there were a lot of nights when that was their only meal.

He smiled sadly at the floor, giving his forehead another thump for good measure. Sometimes it was hard to keep himself from dwelling on how much his brother had given up, especially when Sam hadn't even appreciated most of it at the time. It was only now, when Dean literally had nothing else to give and was at the brink of just letting himself fall into the abyss, that Sam was finally doing something to pay him back. Even if it had taken a little arguing and a lot of fast talking to get Dean to think about it, much less agree to it. They were finally, albeit slowly, settling in a new life that was actually _working_.

Well, he amended silently, straightening up and giving his failed pie dough a rueful look. There were some things that were working. Others, like his crappy attempts at making Dean a pie for dessert, not so much. He dusted his hands off in the sink and then grabbed the bowl, tossing the contents into the garbage right alongside his first two attempts. It was a waste of a lot of ingredients, and he was almost to the point where he was wondering if it wasn't better to just admit defeat and buy a pre-made dough from the store the next time they went. But he really wanted to make it from scratch, because there was nothing Dean loved more than homemade pie. 

He glanced quickly at the clock, trying to determine whether or not he had enough time to try again, and registered the sound of his laptop beeping. A little surprised, he quickly washed his hands and dried them off on his apron as he turned towards his computer. He and Charlie had set it up a couple of months ago to alert him to anything unusual in the local news. Sometimes it got exhausting scanning so many newspapers every day, and he was trying to figure out a way to make it easier for hunters to keep tabs by using key search terms. Charlie had created the program at Sam's request and given it to him to try out. But then, in the wake of everything that had happened, he'd forgotten about it. 

Now, he saw that the program had found an article in a newspaper a couple of towns over. The article referred to a couple of surprising deaths. Sam scanned it quickly, his mouth tugging into a frown. It was definitely unusual for two teenagers to die of heart attacks, one right after another in the span of three days, though he supposed it did happen. Still, even though it might turn out to be nothing, it sounded enough like a case that he was intrigued. It had been a long time since Sam had gone out on a hunt, and he could already feel the familiar buzz of adrenaline lighting him from the inside out. 

Though there was the question of what he would do with Dean. Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. Dean had been so resistant to the idea of age playing at first, which wasn't exactly surprising. It had sounded a little weird to Sam the first time he found out about it, too. But it was working so _well_. Removed from violence and stress, the Mark of Cain hadn't bothered Dean in weeks. And every day, Sam saw his brother slipping a little bit further into a toddler headspace. It had gotten to the point where Dean would actually let Sam rock him to sleep or carry him around. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that, not when Sam felt like they were finally getting somewhere. 

The logical answer would be summon Castiel and leave Dean with him. Castiel was the only other person that Sam trusted with his brother, and he'd already seen the two interacting on several occasions while Dean was being little. It never ceased to be _adorable_. For a heavenly being that was supposed to be immune to emotion, Castiel was so obviously smitten with little Dean leaving them alone meant that Sam would come back to find that Castiel was even more wrapped around Dean's finger than he was now. But since Dean could use a few more people that would bend over backwards to do what he wanted, that wasn't exactly a bad thing.

The only problem with that was how busy Castiel had been lately. Heaven was in an uproar now that Metatron had been sent to prison, and more and more angels were turning to Castiel to lead them. It was not a position that Castiel wanted, but - as he had explained to Sam once - he wasn't sure who else could take up the mantle. It was a difficult situation, made worse by Castiel's exhaustion in spite of the fact that he had his grace back, and it meant that Castiel rarely had time to spend with them. Sam could call him, but the odds of Castiel being able to answer unless there was trouble were slim.

There was one other option. Sam had resorted to it a handful of times before, when supplies in the bunker were running dangerously low - as in, they didn't even have a can of beans left - and Castiel wasn't available. But he didn't like it, and he knew that it made Dean uncomfortable, although at least Dean no longer threw fits about how he didn't need a baby-sitter. But it was marginally better than leaving Dean alone, which was not happening. 

"Cas, if you could pop in right now, it would be much appreciated," Sam muttered, hoping against hope that the angel might actually answer him, but he wasn't surprised when the seconds ticked by and there was no tell-tale flutter of wings to announce the entrance of their friend. 

Instead, a new, quieter sound made itself known. Sam's head snapped around when he heard the soft sobs over the baby monitor and he jumped up, bolting out of the room. He darted towards the bedrooms, bypassing Dean's old room and skidding to a stop in front of his new room. The door was still partially shut, as Sam had left it forty-five minutes ago, and he pushed it open, half-expecting to see something threatening his brother.

The overhead lights may have been out, plunging the room into darkness, but the teddy bear shaped nightlight threw off enough light Sam could still see there was no immediate danger. Dean was curled up in the bed facing away from the door, his shoulders trembling. The sobbing was a little louder now, and it tugged at Sam's heart. He was beside the bed in a handful of steps, reaching down to touch Dean's arm.

Dean flinched with a frightened whimper, looking up with huge, wet green eyes, but once he realized who was standing beside him he collapsed inward like a puppet with cut strings. Sam sat down on the bed and hugged him, pleased when Dean immediately burrowed into the offered comfort instead of trying to squirm away. It felt so good to sit there and just hug his brother that he relished the contact for a minute, just listening to Dean sniffle and cry quietly.

"What happened?" he asked finally, keeping his voice hushed. "Did you have a bad dream?"

There was a slow nod against his shoulder, and Sam had to hold back a sigh. He knew from experience that no amount of prompting, threatening or bribing would get Dean to talk about his nightmares. Whether that was because Dean genuinely couldn't bring himself to talk about them or because he was still operating under some twisted delusion of wanting to protect Sam, it was hard to say. Knowing Dean, it was probably both.

"Whatever it was, it was just a dream, honey," he whispered, cupping a hand under Dean's bottom to lift him up. Dean squirmed, arms tightening around Sam's neck, because he didn't like being scooped up without warning. Sam hid his smile against Dean's hair and carried him across the room, settling down into the rocking chair in the corner.

It was an old thing, found in one of the bunker's many storage rooms, but it held up under the weight of two grown men and that was all Sam cared about. He arranged Dean in his lap until they were both comfortable and then pushed his foot against the ground, starting the gentle rocking motion that would soothe Dean back to sleep in no time. If he let Dean get up after only that little sleep when his normal nap lasted a good two hours, he'd have a cranky little boy to deal with tonight.

Or rather, the baby-sitter would. It was tempting to wake Dean up and let him be a terror tonight, but that wouldn't be fair to Dean. Sam smirked regardless, absently tucking his index finger into Dean's mouth when Dean started smacking his lips and whining. It was a weird little quirk of Dean's: he wouldn't suck his own thumb, and god forbid Sam offer him a pacifier, but apparently Sam's fingers - and, on one memorable occasion, his hair - were considered fair game.

Within ten minutes, Dean had settled down. His mouth was open slightly and he was breathing deeply with these little huffy exhales and a little bit of drool running down his chin. Very slowly, Sam slipped his finger free, stood up and carried him back to the bed. He eased Dean down onto the covers and smoothed his hair back from his face, watching as Dean muttered something unintelligible and rolled over onto his side.

"Sweet dreams, babe," Sam murmured, pulling the covers up a little. Times like this, he really wished that he had an angel's ability to dream walk. Given the litany of things they had faced over the years, it was impossible to know what Dean was dreaming about. Whatever it was, Sam wanted to protect his brother and it killed him to know that he couldn't.

He stayed there for a while longer, just watching as Dean slept, before he reluctantly got up and left. The kitchen was a disaster area that could wait. He gathered together everything he'd need for the summoning ritual and went into the living room, where he painted a quick devil's trap on the floor in red paint even though there was one already there. It just never hurt to be prepared, and also, the expression on Crowley's face when he found himself trapped every time was just too funny.

After standing back a reasonable distance, Sam crossed his arms and recited the incantation. He'd done it so often now that he could recite it from memory alone. Dark smoke bloomed, temporarily obscuring his vision, and through it he heard the sound of a very familiar voice.

"Moose," Crowley practically growled the word as the smoke faded away. He looked incredibly pissy. "Did it ever occur to you that I am not actually a baby-sitter?"

"It occurred to me that I could kill you at any time, and that you should be doing everything you can to get on my good side," Sam replied, not phased in the slightest. With Dean temporarily out of the picture, Sam was the only hunter in the world that Crowley feared, and they both knew it.

Crowley's scowl deepened. "I had important things to do today."

"Tough."

"Can you not buy food for more than one week at a time?" 

"This isn't about food," Sam shot back. It was a mistake on his part. He could tell the moment he spoke that he should've gone on letting Crowley think he was just going grocery shopping. The gleam in the demon's eyes was telling. 

"There's only one reason you'd be willing to leave your kit alone," Crowley replied, smirking. "Found yourself a hunt, did you?"

Sam glared at him and, hoping to distract him, asked, "Why do you keep calling him that?"

"Baby squirrels are called kittens," said Crowley with a wave of his hand, as though the fact that the King of Hell had put thought into a new nickname for little Dean wasn't important. "Do tell."

"It's none of your business," Sam snapped. "Frankly, if I had any other choice at all, I wouldn't have summoned you to look after Dean. You do remember what will happen if I come back -"

"Yes, yes, you'll hunt me down and kill me," Crowley interrupted, sounding bored. 

"No, I'll hunt you down and finish the ritual that makes you human," Sam said, enjoying the brief flash of fear in Crowley's eyes. It wasn't very often he found something that would make it through the demon's seemingly impenetrable exterior, but the thought of becoming human did it every time.

He turned away, leaving Crowley there while he went to finish prepping for the hunt. It didn't take much. The Impala, still fully loaded with weapons, was sitting in the garage ready to go. All Sam had to do was pack his laptop up in case he needed to do some research and grab his spare bag from his bedroom. Still, by the time he returned to the living room, Crowley was no longer alone.

"You're leaving," Dean said, a hint of accusation in his voice.

"Just for a little while," Sam told him, wondering why he hadn't heard the sounds of his brother getting up over the baby monitor. Sometimes it was easy to forget Dean was still capable of being eerily quiet when he wanted to be. Those ingrained hunter instincts hadn't gone away.

"Can I come?"

"No, Dean. You're not ready to go outside of the house." It was the truth, sort of. Sam didn't think his brother was comfortable enough with being little to leave the bunker. But he also knew that he was leading Dean to believe that he was just going on a supply run. Guilt welled up inside of him and, for a split second, he thought about being honest about the hunt.

But that would only lead to Dean wanting to come along, and that was absolutely not going to happen. Not if Sam had anything to say about it. Dean was doing so well at keeping the Mark of Cain under control. Who knew what would happen if he was exposed to violence or bloodshed? It could undo months of work and send them right back to where they started, or worse. It was better than Dean stay in the dark.

So he crossed the room, ruffled Dean's hair as a goodbye, and pointed a threatening finger at Crowley as he walked out. Crowley just smirked at him in reply. Sam ignored the taunt, hurrying down to the garage and tossing his equipment into the passenger's seat of the Impala. It felt nice to be behind the wheel again, knowing that he was headed towards a hunt, even if it was strange not to have Dean right beside him.

Still, Sam was doing the right thing. This was his opportunity to protect Dean, just like Dean had always protected him over the years. That's all he was doing. Protecting Dean. He kept that thought in his head as he pressed down on the gas, letting the Impala fly down the highway, pushing aside the lingering feeling of guilt.

It only took about an hour to make it to the other town. Sam cr made a quick stop to change into something more formal before he drove to the police station, having already decided that he needed a closer look at the reports. The newspaper article hadn't given him nearly as much detail as he needed, and sometimes it was easier to ask than to try hacking into the servers.

The lead detective was more than happy to let him take a look at the reports for the two deaths, though she seemed to think Sam's presence was a little strange. Sam understood why as soon as he sat down to look through them. It turned out that there wasn't much to look at. Both teenagers had collapsed unexpectedly. Autopsies had ruled out any outside influences, including drugs, which eliminated murder or suicide, and the coroner's official report was accidental death on both counts. 

Or, as the detective put it, "Weird, but not the first time I've seen a couple of kids lose it from the stress."

Sam was convinced there was more to it than that, and a little extra digging confirmed it. Turned out that both teenagers had been suspects in a murder exactly six months ago. He asked the detective for the name of the victim, which had not been shared with the media, under the guise that he wanted to question the relatives, and then returned to the car to wait for dark so he could go to the cemetery. 

"Salt and burn," he said to himself, setting his laptop on his knee and double checking to make sure the original victim was buried in the local cemetery. He was a little disappointed the case had turned out to be so simple. Usually they had to put at least a little effort into figuring hunts out, but this one was cut and dry. Even a rookie would've been able to put two and two together with no problems.

Oh well. If the ghost was killing people, it still needed to be taken care of. 

When the sun set, Sam was ready. Under the cover of darkness, he carried a shovel, some gasoline, and a container of salt to the right grave. This was the part where he really missed having a partner around. Shoveling several pounds of dirt wasn't really a job for just one person, but he had a hard time imagining working with anyone other than Dean. Or Castiel. But neither of them was an option right now.

"Not that it really matters. Even when Dean was here, I still ended up doing most of the shoveling," he muttered, mouth twitching into a fond smile.

The blow came from nowhere.

He hit the tombstone and flipped over it, the world spinning as he went ass over head onto the ground. He stared up at the sky, momentarily winded, trying to figure out what happened. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he instinctively rolled to the side just in time to avoid a ghostly hand. It plunged into the ground next to him instead of into his chest, directly where his heart would have been.

The ghost shrieked its rage at the miss and backhanded him across the face with surprising strength. Sam's head snapped back and he tasted blood. He groped around for the shovel, only just realizing that he'd dropped it when the ghost first slammed into him, and then watched as the ghost shrieked again and abruptly disappeared.

Dean hefted the iron bar he was holding, spinning around to search for it.

"Dean?" Sam asked dumbly. Maybe the fall had rattled something in his brain, but it took him a few seconds to grasp the fact that Dean was really standing there. Long enough that ghost rematerialized and Dean swiped it with the bar a second time.

"Sammy, keep digging!" Dean barked.

It was the name that jolted him into action. Ever since they'd started age playing, that was the only name that Dean would call him. Hearing it now was like being punched again. Sam jumped up, anger and protectiveness clashing in a gut churning storm, and wrenched the bar away from his brother. Dean let go surprisingly easily, his open hands flexing, face painted with confusion.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam yelled in his face, automatically glancing down at Dean's arm. The Mark of Cain was covered by the leather jacket, but Sam felt like it was taunting him.

"You're hunting!" Dean yelled back. "Where the hell did you think I'd be?"

"Home, where you belong!" Sam whipped around, swinging the bar hard just as the ghost appeared for a third time. His heart was racing. There wasn't enough time to dig up the grave, and there was no way he was letting Dean be the distraction.

"Sammy -"

"Cas!" Sam roared. The ghost was reappearing faster now. " _Castiel_!"

The dying shrieks of the ghost as a severely pissed off angel flew in right behind it was music to Sam's ears. Castiel laid a single hand on the ghost and smited it out of existence, leaving a ringing silence behind. Sam was breathing hard. Dean was staring at them both. He didn't say a word, which was probably for the best, as Sam wasn't sure he would've been able to rein in his temper right then.

Finally, Castiel broke the silence. "Hello, Dean. Sam."

"Take Dean home," Sam said through gritted teeth, feeling like he was forcing each word out. All he really wanted to do was take Dean by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. To demand to know why the hell Dean would do something so unbelievably foolish. The edges of the iron bar dug into his hands.

"No," Dean protested. "Sammy -"

Castiel moved, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and silencing him, possibly because he was facing Sam and could see the effect Dean's protest was having on Sam's level of patience. Dean looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn't get the chance. Without another word spoken, there was a faint flap of wings and then both of them were gone, leaving Sam alone in the cemetery with a quarter dug grave and a cracked tombstone for company.

He did what he could to put the scene to rights, putting the dirt back and yanking some weeds over the cracked portion of the tombstone. His side ached, a reminder of where he'd collided with the stone, but he ignored the pain. He was too focused on getting back to the bunker as quickly as possible so he could figure out what had possessed his brother to be so stupid.

Within forty-five minutes, he was on his way home.


	2. Chapter 2

When the Impala finally rumbled to a stop outside of the bunker, Sam just sat there for a moment and tried to gather himself back together. That was easier said than done, considering that he had spent the drive coming up with increasingly horrifying scenarios where the Mark of Cain had proven to be too strong and Dean had snapped, going on a rampage through the town until everyone was dead. Or where the ghost had proven to be too much for Dean's noticeably slower reaction time, and Dean had ended up with a ghost's hand in his chest and heart failure. Or where Dean had been the one to be thrown into a tombstone, only he hadn't fared as well as Sam had, instead cracking his head open and bleeding out right there at Sam's feet.

He shuddered hard, trying to shake the worst of the images off as he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. For the first time since the two of them had launched their age playing experiment, Dean was not there waiting for him when Sam walked into the bunker. Instead, the room was eerily quiet. Sam moved slowly down the stairs, tossing his bag down at the bottom. He set his laptop on the table a little more gently, looking around. He couldn't say he was surprised to not be greeted by a huge smile and wide open arms, but it hurt a little at the same time as it made him that much more angry.

"Where the hell are you, Dean?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stormed towards the living room. He was half-expecting to find Dean curled up on the couch under Crowley's watchful eye, but instead the sole occupant of the room was the King of Hell himself. Someone - likely Dean, because as a child Dean was painfully eager to please - had moved a chair and a book into the devil's trap, and Crowley was sitting in said chair with his legs crossed, idly flipping through the book.

"Hello, Moose," he greeted without looking up, like this was a common occurrence. "Lose something?"

"Crowley," Sam practically growled, tamping down the desire to grab Ruby's knife and just stab Crowley already. The annoying thing was, the demon was actually helpful on occasion. So killing him wasn't a good idea in the long run, even if short term it sounded like the best idea Sam had ever had.

Crowley smirked down at his book and deliberately closed it. "You do realize that putting me in this devil's trap means that I can't stop your kit when he decides to leave the bunker," he said mildly. 

"Did you even try to stop him?"

"Once he found out where you were going, I doubt that even your angel could have stopped him." Crowley lifted his head finally, openly giving Sam the once over. "Come now, Moose. Did you really think that he wouldn't figure it out? When was the last time that you took your laptop or your bag with you when you were doing a grocery run? You should know that's the first thing your boy checks the second you leave. He's not nearly as stupid as you seem to think he is." He leaned back a little, tilting his head knowingly. "Or did you honestly believe that he's fallen so far into this little delusion that your safety is no longer the most important thing to him?"

Sam felt his face flush at the mocking tone. "Where is Dean?" he demanded, because he didn't know how to respond to what Crowley was saying. He hadn't realized that Dean checked to see whether he was leaving on hunts. Why hadn't that occurred to him in the past? Didn't Dean trust him? 

"I really can't say."

"Can't or won't?"

"I haven't seen him since you blazed out of here and he took off after you," Crowley said flatly. "Being that I am trapped in this bloody thing, I'm not exactly in the position to go poking around."

"You're useless," Sam snapped at him, turning to leave.

"However, I did hear him," Crowley added.

Sam stopped in his tracks. Much as he hated to pander to Crowley and give the demon exactly what he wanted, he couldn't help turning. "And what did you hear?"

"Something about how you will never understand," came the mild response, as though they were discussing the weather. "I missed part of that. But the declaration that Dean does not want to see you anytime soon, along with some closing doors, was pretty clear."

Something cold gripped Sam's chest, making it hard to breathe. It was getting towards the end of summer, so nights weren't exactly cold yet - but it wasn't warm out, either. He cast an automatic look at the wall, but of course there were no windows to look out. Even if there were, the chances that he'd see Dean standing there was slim. He forced himself to look back at Crowley. 

"Did he leave the bunker?" 

Crowley shrugged. "I heard doors closing. I didn't _see_ anything, being that I'm -"

"For god's sake," Sam hissed, crossing the distance between them in a couple of steps. He grabbed a can of paint thinner and knelt, smudging out the devil's trap until Crowley would be able to escape. "There, you're free. Since you're not going to be helpful, get out."

Part of him didn't really think it would be that easy to get rid of Crowley, but by the time he stood up the demon was gone. It was just as well. Sam had more important things to do. He left the room at a dead run, trying to figure out the most logical place for Dean to hide. And that was ignoring the strong possibility that Dean might not even be in the bunker anymore; Castiel's car, the one that Dean had used to follow Sam in the first place, was parked with the Impala again. But that didn't mean Dean wasn't capable of heading out on foot.

He checked both of Dean's bedrooms, the kitchen, his own bedroom, the bathroom, and the handful of storage rooms that they had investigated so far with no luck. His heart was racing as he hurried down the hallways, opening door after door. Some of the rooms clearly hadn't been disturbed in decades, but others were free of dust and so cluttered that Sam wasted precious seconds doing a quick sweep for his brother. Twenty minutes into his search, he hadn't found Dean and he was seriously starting to panic.

Maybe he really had left. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms, after all. Sam to stop and lean against the wall at the thought of trying to find Dean if he had left the bunker. It would be bad enough if Dean was acting like his older self, but Dean spent so much time as a little kid now. He felt genuinely nauseous trying to picture that little boy out in the woods all alone. If that was really the case, there was no way Sam would be able to find him alone. He'd have to get help.

Help. "Shit," Sam breathed, suddenly feeling massively stupid. He'd panicked without even thinking about Castiel. The angel had to still be with Dean, wherever he was. "Cas, I'm back at the bunker. Are you - where are you? Where's Dean?"

He had barely finished speaking before the faint flutter of wings indicated that was no longer alone, and Sam turned to see Castiel standing behind him. Castiel surveyed him calmly, even though Sam was certain that he had to look like a wreck - and it wasn't going to get any better, since Castiel was alone. Where the hell was Dean?

"Cas -"

"Dean is very upset, Sam," Castiel interrupted. 

So Dean was okay. The relief was strong enough to make Sam's knees weak, so it was a good thing he was still leaning against the wall. Hot on its heels, though, was a fresh surge of anger. Like Castiel had any right to be telling him how to deal with his brother? Castiel had barely spent any time around them in the past couple of months; he dropped by just long enough to play with Dean and then take off again. Sam was the one who had to deal with everything on a day to day basis. 

"Do you have any idea of how much I've been freaking out?" he said, trying his best to keep his voice level and not start shouting the way he really wanted to. "Christ, Cas, I thought Dean had run off!"

"He thought about it," Castiel said in that frustratingly calm way of his. "Honestly, I believe the only thing stopping him was that he didn't want to worry you." There was a hint of something judgmental in the way that Castiel looked at him right then, and Sam scowled.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"He's hiding. Like I said, he is very upset right now. He only followed you because he was worried."

"I told him to _stay here_. He's in no shape to hunt."

Castiel shot him an exasperated look. "Since when has Dean's personal well being taken precedence over you? Sam, you can't do this anymore. What you're doing right now, it seems to be working. But if you keep going out on hunts -"

"You know what, Cas, I'm not interested in hearing what you have to say at the moment," Sam interrupted, holding up a hand. "I appreciate you smiting that ghost and taking Dean home. But I really need to talk to him, and it will be a lot faster if you just tell me where he is."

Blue eyes narrowed, almost squinting at him, like Castiel was trying to figure out what Sam's plans were. Good luck with that, because even Sam didn't know what he was going to do or say once he found Dean. For about a minute, one of the longest minutes of Sam's life, no one said anything. The silence stretched on long past the point where it became uncomfortable, and he was beginning to think that it might be easier to draw a sigil to banish Castiel and just keep searching on his own when Castiel finally spoke.

"He is hiding in the closet of storage room 4B," Castiel said quietly. "But I'm warning you, Sam. Be cautious in how you approach this conversation."

"Are you threatening me?" 

There was a barely perceptible pause that strongly suggested that yes, that was a threat, before Castiel said, "Dean loves you, but right now the relationship you share with him is very fragile. _He_ is fragile. One wrong word or action could destroy it and both of you. You finally have the chance to do right by your brother, Sam. Don't break his trust, or mine."

Castiel was gone before Sam could open his mouth, never mind think of a way to respond. He settled for scowling at the empty hallway before hurrying down to storage room 4B. It was one of the rooms they hadn't really looked through, but it was caked in a layer of dust a good three inches thick. Right away, Sam knew that Castiel had been telling the truth. The two sets of footprints leading through the dust and to a closet would have led him to Dean eventually.

"Dean," Sam said, folding his arms. "Come out here right now."

"Go away, Sammy."

"I'm not going away. We need to talk." Sam grabbed the doorknob, surprised when it gave under his hand and he was able to pull the door open. Dean looked up at him from where he was sitting on the floor of the closet, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. His mouth was pulled into a sulky frown, and he looked so much like a petulant kid that Sam sighed.

"I said _go away_ ," Dean repeated, straightening his shoulders.

"There's no way I'm leaving you down here. This place has so much dust, it's amazing you're still able to breathe. Now, you've got two options. Either you can follow me up to the living room on your own, or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you up. It's up to you, but one way or another you're not staying here."

Dean's scowl grew deeper, but apparently he realized Sam was serious because he pushed himself to his feet. Sam scanned him quickly as he stepped aside to let Dean pass, making sure that he hadn't been injured. He hadn't noticed the ghost landing any blows, but sometimes in the heat of the moment it was easy to miss things like that. Fortunately Dean looked fine, and was walking normally as they left the storage room and made their way up to the living room. 

The second they were both inside, Dean turned on him. "I won't apologize if that's what you want. You're the one who left."

"It was a hunt, Dean. I'm a hunter."

"So am I."

"No, you're supposed to be a little kid right now," Sam pointed out, glaring at him. "Little kids do what they're told."

"Fuck that!" Dean spat. "Sam, you went out on a hunt all by yourself. You didn't know what the hell was waiting for you at that cemetery. That ghost could've killed you!"

"I was fine handling it myself!" Sam snapped, trying not to let the subtle dig about his hunting skills get to him too deeply. "I did the research. I knew what I was walking into. It was you showing up threw me off. And what were you thinking? What if the Mark of Cain had taken over? There were a lot of people in that town, Dean. People that you put in danger!"

Dean flinched, but recovered quickly, firing back, "Yeah? Well maybe this whole thing was a stupid idea in the first place! Because you know what else puts people in danger? Ghosts going on a rampage because a hunter upset them!"

It was the closest to the old Dean that Sam had seen in months. The pliant, sweet little kid he'd rocked to sleep just a few hours ago was gone like he had never existed. Standing in his place was Sam's angry older brother. It was such a huge switch that it was jarring, almost surreal, because Sam had almost believed that this anger, this _rage_ , was gone forever. Instead it had just been hiding all this time, pushed down below the surface until it exploded. And Sam found himself yelling back.

"I'm a good hunter, Dean! I've been doing this for nearly as long as you have! You have to stop treating me like I'm incapable of doing anything without your supervision!"

"Why, because you hate being protected?" Dean shouted. "Welcome to the club! Now you know how I feel when you take off on your own!"

"I did that because of the Mark! You know violence is too dangerous for you to be around!"

"The Mark doesn't make me a stupid little kid! That was all your work. I fucking hate the way you've been treating me lately, like I'm too dumb to know what's going on. You _left_ me here, Sam. You went on a hunt by yourself and you left me with Crowley!"

Sam gritted his teeth. Why couldn't Dean see that he'd made the best decision? His brother was so stubborn sometimes. It was incredibly frustrating. He clenched his fists against the urge to shake some sense into Dean and retorted, "Yeah, well, the way you're acting certainly makes you seem like a little kid. Only little kids would run away instead of facing up to a punishment for disobeying!"

Dean actually laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh boy, you're one to talk. I have never run away. Ever. You were the one who took off for those two weeks when we were kids. I went out of my mind trying to find you, Sam. I thought you were dead. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I couldn't _breathe_. At least when you took off to Stanford, I knew that you were still alive."

That actually made Sam pause for a few seconds. The sharp panic and fear he'd felt during those minutes when he couldn't find Dean would take a while to fade completely. He couldn't imagine being stuck in that hell for a day, much less two weeks. To him, those two weeks had been a lot of fun - by the end of it, Sam hadn't really given his brother or his father more than a passing thought during the day. It had never occurred to him before to wonder how Dean had taken it.

In the silence, Dean pressed on. "You're a total hypocrite, you know that? You come at me railing about how you were just trying to protect me, but when _I_ try to protect _you_ , you act like it's the worst thing in the world. What do you think would happen if you make me into a little kid and then you get ganked on a hunt? Where the hell am I supposed to go? You think Cas has the time to take care of me? You think Crowley would do anything but feed me to some hell hounds?" His voice cracked.

"Dean..." Sam stared at him, all of his anger draining away as quickly as it had come. It was like a filter had fallen off his eyes, and suddenly he realized that Dean wasn't really angry - he was _terrified_. Worse yet, a lot of what Dean was saying made sense. 

"You never think!" Dean yelled at him. "You're just like Dad sometimes. You act like you know what's best and you never try to see things from someone else's perspective." His words were breaking as tears started roll down his cheeks. "You... you don't even _try_ to understand..." He brought his hands up, covering his face as he began to cry.

Sam didn't even think. He rushed to his brother, arms outstretched to give comfort. But Dean saw him coming and shook his head, backing up to put a little more distance between them. That hurt, and Sam winced as he whispered, "Dean, it's okay. Come here. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry," Dean sobbed. "You're just saying that because I'm upset and I can't control it. You're going to do the same goddamn thing next time, and then you'll get mad when I chase after you, and I can't do this anymore Sammy. I can't keep flipping back and forth, it's too much, it makes me so tired and I just want to know that I can trust you not to leave me and that you're safe. Why can't I know that you're safe?"

This time, Sam didn't give him the option of pulling away. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him into a huge hug. Dean fought against him for a few seconds, but Sam refused to let go, and eventually Dean collapsed against him and started to cry even harder. He pressed his face into Sam's shirt, his forehead resting against Sam's shoulder, and clung to Sam so tightly that his knuckles were turning white from the pressure, like he thought Sam might disappear if he didn't.

"Shh, honey, it's okay," Sam murmured, petting Dean's hair. His heart was racing so fast that he wondered if Dean could hear it, or if the only thing Dean was listening to was the sound of his own sobs. And it wasn't okay, not at all, and Dean probably knew that - and it was a sign of how upset he was that he wasn't saying as much. Sam blinked hard, trying to force his own tears back, but the room was quickly getting blurry.

It wasn't the first time that Dean had compared Sam to their father, but it was the first time that Sam actually took it to heart. Because his brother was right and that was scary. He didn't want to turn out like John Winchester, who had always thought that his way was the correct way and didn't like being told otherwise. That was why Bobby and John had nearly come to blows, and how Dean had been molded into a little soldier in the first place. This age play had to be something Dean _wanted_ , not another lifestyle he was being forced into.

Sam inhaled deeply, closing his eyes against the burn, and pressed his face against the top of Dean's head. It was kind of weird, in a way. Most of his life Sam had always been under the impression that Dean was a lot bigger than he was. He had a lot of childhood memories that involved looking up to his brother. And even after he'd had his final growth spurt and he ended up taller, Dean still had that swaggering confidence that made him seem larger than he really was.

It was only now, holding the trembling body of his brother in his arms, that Sam really understood how wrong he was. Castiel's words about Dean's fragility came back to him, and Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing because it turned out the angel was right. It wasn't just about the physical difference in height or weight between them, and this was about more than just the Mark of Cain. Emotionally, mentally, Dean was on the verge of breaking. He was so delicate that one more stress fracture would shatter him completely, and Sam didn't think that there was any force on Earth, Heaven or Hell strong enough to put him back together this time. 

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, choking on a sob, feeling his cheeks growing damp. He rocked Dean gently, swaying from side to side, feeling like he had managed to fail his brother in spite of all his efforts because he'd been so damn oblivious. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I should have thought... Shit, I'm so sorry."

Dean just kept crying, his whole body shaking from the force of his tears, and eventually Sam picked him up and carried him over to the sofa. Dean whimpered and clung to him even harder when Sam moved, like he was afraid Sam might leave him behind him. Sam just shushed him and sat down with Dean on his lap. It took a little arranging to make them both comfortable, mostly because Dean refused to let go, but finally he had Dean sitting sideways and crying into his shoulder.

The only thing Sam could do was keep rocking him, wishing that he had their chair but not daring to carry Dean that far, and whispering apologies and reassurances. It was still a long time before Dean finally cried himself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Technically it would have been a lot easier to just call Cas to get some help in carrying Dean to bed. But this time, Sam wasn't willing to take the easy way out. Once he made sure that Dean was really asleep, he carefully slid his arm underneath Dean's knees. His other arm was already wrapped around Dean's back. Slowly, exhaling through pursed lips to keep from swearing, he somehow managed to lever himself to his feet without dropping Dean or waking him up. And that right there was a testament to just how exhausted Dean he was, because usually both of them came awake pretty much instantly. It only made Sam more determined to get Dean to bed on his own.

Unfortunately his back would not be thanking him tomorrow for his stubbornness. He gritted his teeth through the first warning twinge of pain and stubbornly ignored it, readjusting his grip on Dean as best he could before he carried his heavy brother all the way back to where their bedrooms were located. Sam had never really appreciated just how large the bunker was before, but by the time he set Dean down on the bed, Sam was deeply regretting the fact that Men of Letters couldn't have settled for a nice one story cottage. It was one thing to carry Dean the handful of steps to the rocking chair, but he'd have to do a lot more weight lifting before he could comfortably carry Dean for any length of time again.

Still, it was worth it to see the way Dean curled up on his side and immediately drew his favorite stuffed animal into his arms. It was a little blue cat, a choice which had surprised Sam since Dean was so allergic to cats, but Dean loved it fiercely and couldn't sleep without it. Sam smiled down at him, just a little, and carefully worked Dean's jeans down his legs and off. That would be enough for tonight; Dean could sleep in his t-shirt instead of pajamas. Doing too much would definitely wake him up, and neither of them were ready for that. He pulled the covers up over Dean's body, checked the baby monitor to make sure the batteries were still functioning, and walked out.

Sam made his way to the kitchen, where the other baby monitor was still sitting on the table, and sank into a seat. For a moment he just sat there with his eyes closed, reflecting on just how badly he had managed to fuck up. All this time he'd thought that he was actually getting somewhere with repaying his brother, but it turned out that Dean had just been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now, at least as far as Dean was concerned, it had. He rubbed a hand over his face and then up through his hair, letting out a long sigh. 

"Cas, if you've got a minute to spare..."

The words had barely escaped before the angel was in the kitchen. Sam eyed him warily, because he'd been pretty damn rude a couple of hours ago and sometimes Castiel got smitey when he was pissed off. But Castiel didn't look angry. If anything, he looked very tired, and Sam lifted a foot to kick out the chair opposite him. He gestured silently and Castiel sat, sinking down into the chair in a way that seemed irrefutably human. Sam didn't think he'd ever seen Castiel slouch before, but that was exactly what he was doing. It was strange how the sight was both discerning and comforting.

"I'm sorry," Sam said into the silence, dropping his gaze to the table. He'd never really been much for blushing, not like Dean, but he could feel the tips of his ears starting to burn. Maybe if he'd been more willing to hear Castiel out, things wouldn't have gotten this bad. He could've had a serious talk with Dean months ago and saved them all some trouble. 

The good thing about Castiel was that he didn't play around. He didn't try to pretend that Sam hadn't screwed up. He just said, "Apology accepted," and then, "What are you going to do about Dean?"

"I don't know. Maybe..." Sam trailed off and shook his head, feeling itchy under the weight of that gaze. "Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe this isn't the way to beating the Mark of Cain after all."

Castiel frowned, blue eyes glinting with displeasure. "Dean needs you, Sam."

Sam's throat got tight suddenly. "Does he really? I am fucking up left and right, man. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. My brother just spent like two hours crying his eyes out because he thinks that I'm gonna leave him and not come back. I... christ, I knew that was something that bothered Dean back when we first started hunting together right after Stanford, but it _still_ bothers him." He stood up, too restless to sit, and walked over to the counter. He wished there was a window in the kitchen, just so he would have something to look out at. "He said I was like Dad."

There was a telling pause from behind him, one that stretched long enough that Sam wanted to put his fist through the wall. But when Castiel spoke again, his voice was gentle. "You are like your father, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. From what I saw of the past, John Winchester was a good father before he lost himself to hunting. His greatest failing is that he cared too much. That's something that both you and Dean share, only you care in different ways. Dean wants to protect you from the world. You want to protect the world from him."

"That's not -"

"Isn't it?" Castiel pressed. "It's not a bad thing. You want to save Dean by saving everyone else, so he won't have to take any more weight on his shoulders. Sam, when you suggested this idea in the first place I supported you. I knew that it would be good for both of you. But you have to let go of the fear that the Mark of Cain is going to take over Dean. It's stopping you from _being_ here with Dean where he really needs you. He doesn't need you to search for a cure, or to keep hunting. He needs you to be here and be happy. If that's nothing something you can do, then I do think that you need to stop this. Because you can't leave Dean behind again."

"Then what else am I supposed to do?" Sam asked helplessly, blinking hard. These were not easy things to hear, even though a part of him knew Castiel was right. He hadn't realized that Castiel knew he was still looking for cures for the Mark of Cain, even though he'd been through every resource a hundred times. Was Dean aware of it too? Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe Dean thought he was trying to get rid of the Mark of Cain so that he could take off, and that, even if it couldn't be done, he'd still leave. 

"I don't know," Castiel said quietly. "I can't tell you that. That's a decision you have to make for yourself."

"Yeah." Sam sighed, running his hands through his hair again, like that might help him find some answers. It didn't. Hunting had been their lives for the past ten years. Law school seemed so far away now, like it was the dream of a completely different person. Even if every supernatural creature in the world dropped dead tomorrow, he didn't know if he would ever go back. Maybe he should have communicated that to his brother a little sooner.

After a few more minutes of silence, Castiel stood up. "I have to go, Sam, I'm sorry."

"No, Cas, its fine." Sam moved a little closer, feeling a little awkward. Without Castiel's help, this whole night could've destroyed his relationship with Dean forever. But it still surprised them both when Sam grabbed the angel in an impulsive hug. 

It took a couple of seconds, but then Castiel's arms came up around him too, holding on with surprising strength. Sam sighed, letting himself slump a little, his forehead resting against Castiel's shoulder. At some point along the road, it stopped being about just him and Dean. Now Castiel was just as much a part of their family. Sometimes it was easy to forget that. 

"When you're done up in heaven, you should come stay with Dean and me," he said, words muffled by the trenchcoat. "You could help me take care of Dean, if you want. Or you could just hang around, if you don't."

Castiel tensed a little. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Sam said immediately, because if he was sure of anything it was the fact that Castiel belonged with them, not in heaven. "Dean will never admit it out loud, but he loves you just as much as he loves me. He thinks the world of you, Cas. And so do I. You're family." He pulled back after one last hard squeeze, relieved to be saying something that should've been said years ago. "We want you here."

"Thank you," Castiel whispered, looking overwhelmed. "I... I don't know long it will take -"

"There's no expiry date on that offer," Sam told him, finally letting his arms drop as he took another step back. "And in the meantime, just drop by as much as you can. Day, night, whatever."

"I will." Castiel paused, then added, "I will come back tomorrow night to see how Dean is doing."

"Great. Look forward to it," Sam said to the empty air, but he didn't mind. He was pretty sure that Castiel had still heard him.

He washed the dishes in the sink from this morning's breakfast and took the baby monitor with him as he headed to bed, his mind spinning. He laid in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time, trying to figure out what his next step should be. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, though he didn't remember that happening, because he woke up to the sound of Dean crying.

Instantly Sam bolted out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face when his feet got tangled up in the sheets, and raced into Dean's room. His brother was sitting up in bed sobbing. In between gasps of air, Sam could just make out something that sounded like his name. He hurried over to the bed.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

As soon as Dean heard Sam's voice, he started crying harder. "Sammy! You're okay!"

"Yeah, buddy, I'm fine." Sam had the sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what this nightmare had been about. He started to sit down on the edge of Dean's bed and stopped when he realized that the sheets were wet. At first, he was confused. The truth only dawned on him when he saw the embarrassed look on Dean's pink face.

Usually, they had a nighttime routine that involved Dean going to the bathroom before he went to bed. This was the first time that Dean had ever wet the bed, and the tears were probably from that as much as the nightmare. Sam was determined not to make a big deal of it. Dean needed to be comforted, but, until he felt more in control, he would probably only reject Sam's attempts to hug him. So Sam stood back up and just pushed the sheets back.

"Why don't you get up and go take a shower?" he suggested calmly, acting like there was nothing wrong or weird about what had just happened. "I'll be right here waiting for you, okay? Just let me know if you need help and I'll come in."

Dean nodded, scrubbing his sleeve over his face, and shakily climbed out of bed. Sam grabbed a shirt from the top drawer of Dean's dresser and caught him around the shoulders, giving him a quick hug before he could leave. He leaned down to whisper in Dean's ear, "Take this with you, but there's some underwear in the bathroom under the sink."

"Kay," Dean mumbled tearfully, almost fleeing the room. He hadn't even stopped to ask about the underwear. Sam wondered whether he would be willing to put on a pull-up or not. He'd ordered them online on a whim, but hadn't seen a need to tell Dean about them yet. But even though it wasn't something they had discussed, Dean was acting really young and Sam would prefer not to wake up in the morning covered in pee - even if, under any other circumstances, Dean would consider that perfect retribution for scaring him.

While Dean was gone, Sam stripped the bed and inspected the mattress. The pee had soaked through, but he thought a scrub with soap and water and a good dousing of Febreeze might do the trick. In the morning. For now, he carted the soiled blankets, pillowcases, comforter, and stuffed animals down to the laundry room and threw them all in the washer. He wasn't sure any of them would actually come clean, but it was worth a shot.

With that done, he started to go back up to the bedrooms and was met in the hall by his brother after what must have been the fastest shower of Dean's life. He was wearing the t-shirt Sam had given him, a soft black fabric with a teddy bear below the words 'i wuv hugz'. It was a perfect replica of the one Dean had been wearing when they were on the road to the garden in heaven, and it looked so cute Sam had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. 

He was also wearing a pull-up. Sam swallowed his surprised reaction. At first glance no one would have realized it was a pull-up, because the white material was covered with pictures of cherry pie. It just looked like underwear, albeit underwear that little kids would wear. But Sam had spent a good twenty minutes online trying to decide between the pie pull-ups and the ones with cowboy hats on them. Seeing them on Dean now, he'd made the right choice.

"Okay?" he asked gently, taking note of Dean's pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. He was trembling too, though whether that was from cold or the nightmare it was hard to say. Sam held out his arms out in invitation, not sure that Dean would be willing to let a hug happen yet, and was pleased when his brother instantly stepped into the embrace.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, his fingers icy where they brushed against the skin of Sam's lower back. Sam shivered and immediately started ushering Dean back to his bedroom. He closed the door behind them and got Dean to lay down on the bed, which was more than big enough for both of them. Dean curled up and Sam pulled the covers over them as he relaxed.

"You're okay," Sam said, pulling Dean into his arms again, not caring that it meant Dean's knees were poking uncomfortably into his stomach. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He was expecting silence, a head shake at best, but instead Dean muttered, "Demons got you."

"Demons?"

"Them and the hounds." Dean shuddered, the trembling getting worse. "Tore you apart, Sammy."

"I'm right here, Dean, I'm fine." Sam hugged him harder and briskly rubbed his hand across Dean's arm. Jesus, Dean was _freezing_. Had he even waited for the water to warm up before he took a shower?

Dean made a soft sound in the back of his throat that was neither an agreement or a disagreement, but didn't loosen his grip on Sam's shirt. Sam sighed. He felt like they were walking a thin line right now, and he wasn't sure what to say or do. Dean had put on the pull-ups, which seemed to indicate he still wanted to be treated like a little kid. If this had happened two nights ago, he would've probably taken Dean to the rocking chair and sang to him.

He didn't want to get out of the bed, which was finally warming up a little. But he could still sing. Dean seemed to find it calming, even though Sam wasn't a great singer. He cleared his throat and sang, " _Hey Jude, don't make it bad... Take a sad song and make it better... Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better..._ "

Sam couldn't remember his mom singing this to him when he was a kid. Dean had told him that she had, but he'd just been too young. One of his favorite childhood memories, though, was of _Dean_ singing him to sleep. Almost every night right up until the night of Sam's eighth birthday, Dean would sit on the edge of his bed and sing their mom's song. He only stopped because Sam complained that he was getting too old for lullabies.

He'd always regretted saying that.

After a couple of verses, Dean stirred against him. "S'mmy?"

"Yeah, baby?" Sam whispered.

"Where's Blue?"

"I had to put her in the wash."

"Want her."

"I know. I'm sorry. You'll just have to make do with me instead," Sam said. He probably wasn't an acceptable substitute for a soft, cuddly blue kitty, but at least he wasn't covered in pee. "Close your eyes. Go to sleep, okay?"

Dean mumbled something stubborn about not being sleepy, but Sam only had to sing the song through twice before Dean's breathing deepened again. Sam pressed a kiss to the top of his head and stayed awake for a long time. There was too much on his mind for him to be able to comfortably sleep, thinking about their future and what was going to have to happen next. 

He dozed on and off, waking periodically to make sure that Dean was still beside him and not upset, and finally got out of bed just after eight. After a quick stop in the bathroom, he checked on the status of Dean's covers and stuffed animals and decided another wash wouldn't hurt. He left the washer running through a second cycle while he went up to the kitchen to get some coffee.

It was another couple of hours at least before Dean came stumbling down the hall, one side of his face creased from the pillows, still wearing the t-shirt and the pull-up. Sam just smiled at him and got up as Dean sat down at the table, pouring Dean some orange juice. He took a seat across from Dean and watched as Dean slurped at the juice, eyes heavily lidded. Once the sugar in the juice had done its job, Sam cleared his throat.

"Dean, we need to talk."

Dean tensed a little. "No, we don't."

"Yeah, we do, and I want to start by saying that I'm sorry."

"You're... sorry?" Dean echoed, eyebrows drawing together.

"I shouldn't have left you like that. I thought I was doing the right thing by not telling you where I was going. I knew you'd want to come with me, and I didn't think I'd be able to convince you to stay... So I lied to you, and that was wrong, because I should have realized that if I had to lie to you then it wasn't the right move. And I'm sorry. Lying has never worked out for us in the past, but it's especially bad now. We have to be able to trust each other if this is going to work."

There was silence on Dean's part. He didn't say a word, just kept watching Sam.

"Like I said, I'm sorry. I won't lie to you again. From now on, when I leave the bunker, I promise I'll tell you where I'm going." Sam took a deep breath. He wasn't stupid; he could see the storm brewing in Dean's green eyes. He rushed to add, "but you won't need to worry, anyway. I'm not going to hunt anymore."

Whatever Dean had been about to say, that stopped him. His mouth opened and then shut, his expression filling with disbelief, before he finally frowned. "Are you serious? But Sammy, we're hunters."

"We _were_ hunters," Sam corrected gently, shifting. This was the part he thought Dean might have a little trouble with. "Dean, you said it yourself. It's not safe for me to hunt alone, and I don't think either of us would be comfortable with me finding a new partner. We've given everything up to be hunters. We saved the world hundreds of times over. I don't think anyone could argue with us at least taking a break. There are plenty of hunters out there to pick up the slack."

"But what will you do?"

"Well," Sam said slowly. "Ever since Garth got bit by a werewolf, there hasn't been anyone to take up the mantle of Bobby. The bunker is basically the perfect place for that. We've got tons of lore lying around. I thought I could get our name and number out there. Let other hunters know that if they've got a problem, they have someone to call for help." He was proud of his idea, though he couldn't believe it had taken him this long to think about it. Being a Man of Letters had interested him from the beginning; this was just a bonus.

He looked at Dean. "That way, we can spend most of our time in the bunker. If you're still interested in continuing the age play."

It took a moment before Dean responded. He was clearly thinking hard, looking at Sam like he wasn't sure whether to believe this or not. "I guess. But there are limits to how far this kid thing is gonna go. Pull-ups, Sammy? Really?" He was pouting.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to," Sam said easily, because Dean might have changed his diapers lots of times, but this was not something Sam was going to argue for. "But you were upset last night and it seemed like a good idea. And look, Dean, we both made mistakes yesterday. I lied to you and scared you, but you disobeyed me by leaving the bunker."

Dean blushed, his eyes falling to the table. "I wanted to help you!"

"I know, but when I tell you to do something I expect you to listen to me," Sam replied, determined not to give in to the cute picture his brother made. "So as punishment, you're not allowed to watch television today."

"But I wanna watch Spider-Man! That's not fair!" Dean whined.

Sam just shook his head. "Nope, sorry." He stood up, turning away before the tears welling up in Dean's eyes could make him change his mind. The DVR was set to record Dean's cartoons anyway, and he had the feeling that his apology for the whole fiasco was going to make it up to his brother. "Instead, you're gonna teach me how to make pie."

"... Pie?"

"Yup." 

"For breakfast?" 

"Maybe not for breakfast, since we'll have to let them cook and then cool. But definitely for supper. Before we can start baking, though, you have to get dressed and wash your hands and face. Can you do that for me?"

It was amazing how fast all signs of tears disappeared. Dean jumped up from the table and took off down the hall, leaving Sam chuckling to himself. Okay, so his punishment for being so stupid was going to involve spending several hours dealing with a sugar high four-year-old without being able to turn the television on as a distraction. But he really couldn't think of any other way that he would rather spend the night.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/), where you can find general fangirling.


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